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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26487295">Forest Afire</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cirrocumulus/pseuds/Cirrocumulus'>Cirrocumulus</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dragony!By x Satyr!Claude, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Consent, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Potion Shenanigans, Transformation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:08:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,410</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26487295</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cirrocumulus/pseuds/Cirrocumulus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><em>They say that deer hide when fires break out.</em><br/>Byleth believes that one only needs a split silver tongue to make them hot, but unbothered.</p><p> </p><p>Late at night, somewhere where the stars peak through thick clouds and the forest is not far, Claude gets the idea to try out new, safe beast-making potions he has created.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>My Unit | Byleth &amp; Claude von Riegan, My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Forest Afire</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is incredibly late, and has been in the making for months, but the first part of it is finally here!</p><p>Happy belated birthday Momo, I hope you enjoy this! ❤︎<br/>Please check out her account, as this was inspired by her Dragon!By and Satyr!Claude pictures. (https://twitter.com/momosinner)</p><p>Also a huge, giant thank you to Pani, who was the most wonderful beta reader I've ever had. Because of her this story is at least 50% better than it was before! (https://twitter.com/soojitoast)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They say that deer hide when fires break out.</p><p>She clutches her deer hide closer, shelters the warmth that enwraps her with fur too worn to be wondrous. But it provides comfort, the embrace of a soul, dead in body but never in spirit.</p><p>Beside her sits her companion, darkened from ash on his fingertips, and it stains his cheeks just so. For a second, she reaches over, just to press her index finger against the spot of soot, eager to rub the grey out of his skin. He huffs like a man, but sighs like a boy right after. Then he tilts his head to feel more of her skin on his own, but before he can indulge too much, he returns to the cold wood in his hands that refuses to catch fire.</p><p>Nights such as these are ripe with the harvest of chilling winds, the howling kind that clutches at kindred spirits such as travelling strangers, and because she lacks the beat of a heart she counts the seconds that it takes for him to finish his task. On just such nights the shining moon provides him a blanket of blueish tones, colours that tinge his eyes with darkness, and so his gleaming grin seems more smug than intended. She does not quite mind, she thinks, as she sinks deeper into the hide, catching the whiff of nature and whatever hardships it went through.</p><p>From there she watches him fumble around with the sticks in his hands, stares as he stabs one into the ground as though it has personally wronged him. Instead of continuing to try to light a hearth brighter than a small flicker he lets the fire itself decide if it wants to burn. He instead finds interest in the concept of a dirt bound map, his left hand throwing the remaining wood to the side while the right one begins to draw an elaborate picture.</p><p>There is detail in the confusion of it all, X’s and O's that clutter the ground, lines and circles and whatever else his mind schemes up. In truth she lacks the capability to understand it all – yet he pulls back his lips with his teeth in concentration, and there are few sights as precious as that.</p><p>So, she laughs, heartily, warmer than the world. “Interesting...”</p><p>His reply is a snarky remark, too handsome to be hurtful. “You don't like what you see?” He gestures to his scribbles, picks up the stick once more to sketch an arrow into the dirt, yet it lacks any heart to latch onto. She supplies one with the heel of her boot, crooked but charming, and the poor imitation of a heart stares back with all the love that it was drawn with.</p><p>“Thought so", comes his smug answer to his own question, carrying an ounce of arrogance with it but also a ton of love. It's enough to weigh heavy on her shoulder – but she does not mind, especially not as he draws nearer, eager to paint a blush onto her cheeks with nothing but his lips.</p><p>They press to her own teasingly, the smile tugging on his mouth wide enough to be felt, and she squeaks in protest the moment his fingers grasp for the deer hide, pulling it snug against his skin and leaving her behind in the bitter-cold.</p><p>“That's unfair, Claude!”</p><p>His reply is but a chuckle, a tone that is decidedly not primal in nature, and yet the glint in his eyes suggests other plans. Still, he only sits down on the log beside her, one hand holding on to the warm material as his other pats his knees to invite her to his lap.</p><p>“We can both be warm, you know.”</p><p>It would be easier to give in to his unfair tactics, but she holds her own, shivering slightly.</p><p>“And what would you do if I prefer the cold?”</p><p>His reply is instant; two strong arms grab and wrap themselves around her, pulling them body to body, skin to skin. The warmth that had been missing begins to spread immediately. Claude smells musky and herbal and kind, yet the way he holds her threatens to be almost a ticklish feeling.</p><p>“Hahhh...” His breath is hot against her neck, but the outside is yet cold as he presses his lips to her flesh in exasperation. The fire burning down in front of them could never rival the heat that Claude unravels.</p><p>Part of her wishes to tug on his hair, just to get him out of his thoughts, but then his touch is a welcoming presence in such times. And the tremors that wreck her body, shivers of the un-cold kind, make a whine catch in her throat.</p><p>“Claude...” Her breathing draws clouds into the night, a fireless dragon.</p><p>He nips at her ear then, soft when his embrace is anything but. His hands travel, chasing a wish that the open wilderness is a watcher of all sorts of days. It has watched countless couples, both young and old, engage in sinful touches under moonlight and stars. So, he paws at the softness of her ways, kneads flesh with the need to be closer still. Teenage-like, boyish in the neediness of it all, and it’s the low growl in the back of his throat that screams ‘man’.</p><p>“...warm enough, now? I've got...half the mind to figure out if any boorish brutes and perverted peddlers would dare to listen in on us.” He laughs. “That is, if they haven’t already.”</p><p>She squirms under his touch, flustered, but the fire hides the heat of her cheeks. “And what of thieves?”</p><p>Claude’s teeth graze her earlobe before his gloved fingers find the hem of her shirt, and they snake under, her bare skin now touched by leather. “If they <em>steal </em>a look...would you mind?”</p><p>There is protest in her mind, a little <em>“Of course!” </em>that remains unspoken. Instead, it gets swallowed by a soft moan. “…a little.”</p><p>The throaty laugh that follows her monotone answer feels heavy, and instead of finding pleasure in her softness he wraps her closer to himself, puts his chin on top of her head. “There is something I want to try.”</p><p>No explanation follows, and curiosity bubbles up inside of her. What is but a question on the tip of her tongue comes out as a short, wondering “Huh. Something…new, or something dangerous?”</p><p>“Bit of both, to be honest.” The grin on his lips feels sharp as he presses them to her head. “You see, Hanneman has – with my help, we know he needs his morality kept in check – concocted a most potent potion.”</p><p>“…and?”</p><p>“Well, it is the most curious thing. What type of beast would you like to be, if a crest would not corrupt you?”</p><p>The question lingers in the air. Not unlike the ash dancing above the campfire, alight and bright before falling away to nothingness. Byleth imagines the old bone of the Sword of the Creator in her hands, and the life that once gave it structure, eons ago.</p><p>“I suppose a dragon”, is what she spits out, fireless. There is a slight sharpness to her words, fierce in the way she pronounces them.</p><p>Claude nods, mostly to himself, lets his hand wander anew below her shirt just so she does not press for an answer from him in turn. “A fitting choice, for the Ashen Demon.”</p><p>“Mhm, is it?”</p><p>“Quite.” One teasing nip at her ear, and then he lifts her off him, hands wanting to linger, but his mind is preoccupied with an idea only a scheming man could come up with.</p><p>She misses the heat immediately, the warmed-up leather of his gloves caressing her breasts and flesh alike, and his effect on her is visibly in the biting night. Byleth does not attempt to hide it, instead sits up straighter as he makes his way over to a leather pouch and looks for two small glass containers. Once he has found his treasure his face lights up…and not just from the campfire. The liquid sloshing around inside has a deep purplish colour, something that could potentially become bright red if brought to a boiling point. He hands her one of the potions, eyes bright with a wish find a much more pleasant topic to indulge in, and she’s got half a mind to remind him where her eyes are, but the attention is too pleasant to deny.</p><p>“Soo, these are…?”</p><p>“Beast making potions. Tested and approved, and perfectly harmless aside from the transforming pain.”</p><p>There is a hint of worry on her lips, tugging them downward just slightly, a tic he has noticed over time – because while it is now obvious that the action is one full of emotions, a long time ago he would have seen it as simple disinterest. “Nothing severe. It might hurt like a bee sting.”</p><p>He cradles the alchemic solution as one would a new-born, perfectly content with rubbing its glass shell to keep himself busy. Still those fingers flex, much more so as she stretches her arms up high, the potion now suspiciously positioned in her cleavage. She must have put it there while he was drawn to her lips and it has him second-guess how well he knows her facial expressions after all. Perhaps it is a game to her, he thinks, not that it shows on her face – that is still blank except for the hint of mirth twinkling in her eyes, and she lets the words roll off her tongue as though they were filthy thoughts instead.</p><p>“What a strong weapon to power an army with, Claude.”</p><p>She licks her lips, then gulps. Yet the liquid is still safely kept, not a single drop has hit her tongue. It is so easy to wonder what that tongue could be used for, and if the soft sensation of it on his skin would be accompanied by a lazy grin, or an overly proud smirk. Would she dare to tease him with it, lap at his most sensitive parts, or would she let it dance with his own? The fantasy has him become thirsty for more of her.</p><p>He feels his mouth go dry.</p><p>“Surely a woman like you could find a…use…for it.”</p><p>He is not quite sure if he is still referring to the potion, or if his overactive imagination tells tales of the pictures in his head that may as well be raunchy paintings. Perhaps it is both.</p><p>“Maybe.”</p><p>Byleth chuckles and stands, fetching the potion and putting her free hand on top of his own. She has seen the ways bodies corrupt, how they twist, and turn, and break apart. But there is certainty in his eyes, and a deep pool of <em>more</em>, and she trusts him in every form that his soul may take.</p><p>“I wonder…men like you, Claude. Are they prey, or predator?”</p><p>He smirks.</p><p>There is lust upon his lips and a lingering love for a chance to scheme.</p><p>“Care to find out?”</p><p>He grips her hand, like a leading wolf, hunger in his bite as he kisses her throat, and makes for the forest behind them. It is a dark, murky kind of place, drenched in a thick fog. On nights like this, even the deer would rather hide than be schemes in a landscape of clouded-over visions. Leaving the fire cools her face and sets the pit of her stomach ablaze. His body is so close that she can smell the scent of burned wood on his skin.</p><p>Claude’s lips carry kisses to each centimetre of exposed skin. They start at her cheeks, travel down until he hits her collarbone, and so the way along the dark forest path is slow, but not unpleasant.</p><p>And the way deep into the lush, mossy green glen has them stop once or twice, engaging in long, languid motions that are persistent but not perverted. She makes sure to drag him deeper inside, until the trees are now pines, and needles litter the ground. They find hold on a trunk, it’s wide girth a hard surface to lean against. There, he presses his lips to her own, devouring until he tastes every inch of her. When his actions make her gasp he lets go, and instead raises their intertwined hands to press a soft whisper of a kiss to her knuckles.</p><p>“Don’t be <em>too</em> eager, or we’ll only get half the fun.”</p><p>She huffs in reply, neck already red from his ministrations, as bright as the blush on her cheeks, the pinkish tone even visible in the faint moonlight. “It’s not <em>me</em> that can’t keep her hands off, you know.”</p><p>“Besides…”, she mutters, her gaze dropping lower and her voice with it. She lets the back of her hand holding onto the potion faintly stroke the fabric above him until he shudders. “It’s not difficult to notice how eager <em>you</em> are, Claude.”</p><p>“Alright, alright, owning up to it.”</p><p>He raises the potion up high, uncorks it swiftly with his thumb, and downs the drink with a single gulp. It tingle; when it goes down. Makes him feel as though heat is bubbling up inside, boiling over, but as soon as the slightly sharp feeling can be felt on his tongue it is gone.</p><p>Then he winks.</p><p>“Can’t help it that you’re <em>intoxicating</em>, Byleth.”</p><p>She raises her own flask in reply, uncaps it slowly, and makes to smell the strange concoction. Its scent is faintly sweet, like honey-coated venison, and upon his insistent nod she, too, drinks it all up.</p><p>Its potency is immediately apparent; it bites into her tongue, and she hisses a little in response. She makes to draw closer to him after, forgetting the fallen down glass at once. It is the small hairs that begin to crawl over his arms that draw her attention.</p><p>“Claude…”</p><p>He smiles, toothily, still like a king, but the smells that begins to permeate her senses are more animalistic, and the tips of his ears begin to change ever so slightly. It is a beautiful look on him…one that makes Byleth ever aware of the changes attempting to overwhelm herself.</p><p>He seems to notice, decides to whisper protective words in her ear. “I’m here, there’s nothing to worry about.”</p><p>Byleth feels her body shift underneath, all the tendons and muscles and what makes her unique. There is a soft pain to it, slow and spreading, and it wraps her into a tight hug that has her yearn for air. Unpleasant, if not for the warmth that it unravels. Supposedly there should be an anger that comes with it, with turning into a beast, burning white hot in-between the bones; yet all that drives her is the sensation between her folds, and it is not hatred that it calls upon. Perhaps a quirk of the potion, turning anger into something more pleasant, although not less primal.</p><p>Her hands reach for her lover, but there are scales growing on them, spreading like wildfire, ending in nails that become claws, and suddenly her grip is that of a beast, not a woman. There's the slightest hint of fur that she touches, much less feral-born than her own twisting skin, and it is enough to ground her in reality, so she wraps her arms around his form, and presses her flesh to his own. The thoughts in the back of her mind tell her that no beast would cling to something it could rip apart this desperately, but they are hollow whispers, and mean nothing.</p><p>As she presses closer to him the beastly ways make halt to let her catch her breath, and the smell that she buries herself in is musky and primal, but of the prey like kind. She shudders. Presses lips to his neck and tries to resist the urge to bite down that suffuses her entire being. But a gasp is what grabs a hold of her instead, uttered between pleasure and pain. She feels at once how wings and horns protrude from her form, growing in size, tearing through cloth and hair, until what she wears is simply a tattered mess, and the ringed ornaments on her head rebel a crown.</p><p>Leathery wings flex once, twice, then open to their full form. A gust of wind what kisses her lover, and he turns in her embrace to face her, eyes ablaze with what an animal would call a death wish. For he is biting his lip, desperate for friction and his whole form shudders with the knowledge of being at the mercy of another.</p><p>The whisper that Claude lets go of is a stuttered, fragile mess, and he would look utterly exposed if not for the transformation covering him in fur, with his shirt torn half open by her claws, and his pants ripped apart from the changes made to his body.</p><p>“...Byleth...”</p><p>The smile that her whispered name brings forth from her lips is toothy, her tongue splitting in two the moment she lets it dance across his neck. It is the spot that has his pulse underneath, a crescendo of drums, and it makes her creep closer; until she is nuzzling the skin and kissing it red. It earns Byleth a whimper, so pleasantly primal and wonderfully wild. Her claws dig into the fur spreading over his shoulders, gripping hard enough just so that he can feel the sharpness without any pain. Claude’s hips buck in reply as she laps up the fear-ridden sweat that clings to his body. Her tongue twists over his skin, tasting his musky scent until it drives her wild.</p><p>It's enough to have her grind her body against his, scales and all, a contrast of warmth and coolness that pushes ever further towards a simmering heat. His fingers flex then while his hooves stomp into the muddy ground, and his arms wrap around her waist as he presses their hips together.</p><p>“...hahhh.”</p><p>His sigh comes from a deep place, a guttural sound, and Byleth's eyes form into slits through the haze of lust, the fog too thick to have her notice it as a human reply, rather than a beastly expression.</p><p>She hisses in draconic ways, split tongue sticking out as she pushes them forward with a flap of her wings, corners him to a different tree, until his body collides with the wood, and grinding into him becomes a form of being, of laying claim to his form. Nothing else matters.</p><p>“I've got you now, mhm?”  </p><p>He smells the ash on her as she darts forward to capture his lips with her own, sharp teeth digging into the soft flesh to tug hungrily at it. His hands find her hair in reply, fingers dancing around her horns and gripping onto them the moment one of her own hands travels lower to stroke the patch of fur that provides him with modesty.</p><p>His voice cracks when she lets him breathe, but it's broken in a perfect way. “Gr-ahhh. C-captured me as your treasure, didn't you?”</p><p>“Mhhhm.” She hums, and it is lingering and longing. “You'd fetch me quite a bit of gold.”</p><p>He gulps, mouth dry. The nubs of his goat-like horns rub against her neck in embarrassment, the scales that bloomed there feeling the rhythm. Fingers used to feeling skin wander from her horns to her hips, so she lets her own hand wander lower, allowing sharp claws to tease what is covered until the remnants of his tattered pants are pulled away as though they were a hide to rip into.</p><p>“I'm afraid I won't suit the image of a damsel in distress very...much...hahhh...”</p><p>She grabs him at his base, and he bucks like a ram. Stroking him is a careful endeavour, one almost kind if not for the sharp kisses she bites into his neck, the sort of kisses that stay and draw blood like poison should she wish for it.</p><p>She does not.</p><p>What she craves for most is his sinful taste, and so her rhythmic touches stop much to his dismay, her body falling prey to the cold of the night as she untangles herself from him to fall to her knees, claws drawing patterns into his hoofed, furred legs as she does so.</p><p>Her heated breath is close to his arousal as she purrs.</p><p>“Mhm, but you look so good when you are distressed, <em>Khalid.</em>”</p>
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